


I'm a Dude, Dad

by luulapants



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, And then canon became not this. Go figure., Because that's when I started writing it, Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Canon divergent from mid-season 8, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, M/M, Porn, Rimming, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luulapants/pseuds/luulapants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This had been a part of him for a long time, the whole dudes-are-kinda-hot thing."</p><p>With his father gone, Dean starts looking into feelings he's shoved aside for a long time. Of course, things are never that simple in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Dean gives in to his urges

**Author's Note:**

> So this is essentially going to be plot for the sake of porn, but there is definitely a plot! I know there will be at least 6 chapters in this story, but who knows if things will take off after what I have planned. I'm just starting to dip my toes into writing SPN fanfic, so I hope I'm capturing the characters correctly.

This had been a part of him for a long time, the whole dudes-are-kinda-hot thing. But Dean grew up a warrior, and, in his younger years, some part of himself had felt that giving in to those urges would make him weak. Girls were conquests. He’d always heard other hunters bragging about some hot piece they bagged in Toledo or something like that. It was always chicks with hunters. Chicks, chicks, chicks.

And Dean liked girls well enough. He liked a handful of tits as much as the next guy, but most of the time there was something missing. He’d find himself curled over some Mandy or Nicki or Laura, hands full of soft curves and wishing she would grab him a little rougher, that she was a little stronger. Maybe that she’d make him beg a little. But girls like that were few and far between.

_I thought we had a thing back at the quad._

Aaron’s words threw him for a loop, got him thinking over things he hadn’t thought about in quite some time. The guy wasn’t bad looking, in an ex-stoner sort of way. And finding out he was in charge of the Jewish Incredible Hulk definitely made Dean sit up and take notice. It got him thinking, why shouldn’t he screw around with the guy? If the offer was on the table, what did he have holding him back?

Before, it had been his dad. His dad was the big, tough manly-man, banging babes and leaving them. And, let’s be honest, Dean had always tried to be like his dad. He had no idea what John would think if he were to find out about this whole thing. When he was thirteen, Dean stole a gay skin mag from a gas station in San Diego. He jerked off to it once, and afterward felt like his dad would find out just by looking at him. He burned the magazine in a drainage ditch down the road.

When he was older, he’d watch the stray gay porno, if he was sure he’d be alone for long enough. It wasn’t often, just a dirty little pleasure if boobs weren’t doing the job that day. And then there was the real thing, which happened even less often.

It wasn’t until John died that Dean dared even considering something like that. A week after his father sold his soul for his son’s life, he found himself angry and drunk in a bar with a guy giving him an inviting look. And he thought, fuck it. It wasn’t like the son of a bitch could find out now, what with the brimstone and damnation keeping him busy. The guy at the bar blew him in the men’s room and Dean returned the favor with a blow job so clumsy and pitiful that he let the man take him home and fuck him as an apology.

And, alright, him and Benny had played help-a-guy-out a few times in Purgatory, but he didn't even count that really because 1) Purgatory and 2) they were the most utilitarian, all-business sexual encounters he'd ever had. Get two seconds of peace, jack each other off in a clearing, never speak of it again. Simple.

So these feelings weren't a surprise. It wasn't that he had to work out who he was or any shit like that. It was more that he needed to work out if he wanted to do anything with them, if they were worth the trouble of sneaking around or, worse, coming out.

Sam didn’t know. He didn’t think Sam would ever know.

 

* * *

 

Once they’d wrapped things up with the Nazis, Sam headed back to the Bunker right away, wanting to record everything they’d found, aspiring Man of Dusty Letters that he was. Dean insisted that he’d stay behind, make sure everything was good with Aaron and his new pet monster. Of course, his motives were less than kosher.

“You want something to drink? I don’t think I have any beer, but there’s coffee, tea…I think I’ve got some Pepsi…” Aaron was puttering around the apartment uncertainly, like he might short circuit if he stopped moving. “You said you ate already, right?”

Dean watched him with a mix of confusion and amusement. “Dude. I’m good. Just chill out. You’re making me anxious.” He glanced around the place. No new broken furniture meant the golem was probably behaving himself now. “So where’s your oversized Jiminy Cricket?”

His host finally stopped pacing and made his way back to the living room. He sat on the other side of the couch from Dean, leaving too much space between them. He hadn’t expected Aaron to be the nervous one. Before when he’d hit on Dean, he seemed so comfortable and self-assured.

“Ah, I sent him out. Patrolling the area or something, mostly to give me a break. Plus, I thought…” Aaron trailed off and smirked. “I doubt he’d approve.”

“So that _is_ what this is about.” Dean was sort of teasing. Sort of. “I was starting to wonder, what with the tea and all.”

Aaron barked a laugh. “What, was I just supposed to jump your bones when you walked in the door?”

Shrug. “I dunno. Not like I do this a lot.”

The other man looked him over, concerned. “But you have done this, right? With guys, I mean.”

Dean sighed and returned his gaze casually. “To be honest, not in a while. But, yeah, I have.”

“You’re full of surprises, tough guy.” With that, Aaron closed the too-large distance between them and paused only a second before straddling Dean’s lap. There was a little tremor of uncertainty in his expression, but he was clearly trying to be confident, be commanding. Dean liked it. “I’ll just have to refresh your memory,” Aaron decided. He leaned down and kissed him.

It took a moment to adjust to the feel of a beard against his face, but one squeeze of strong hands on his shoulders made up for it in a second. Dean’s hands flew forward to cup the nape of his neck, grip the angle of his hip. It was inelegant, unromantic, and exactly what he wanted. From there, it was a scramble to get Dean’s shirt over his head, unbutton Aaron’s. His breath puffed out short, just this side of desperate.

Aaron pulled back, giving a positively lecherous look over his battle-scarred torso. His hand fell on the tattoo on his chest. “What’s this?”

“Keeps demons from jacking my body.”

“Your life is bizarre.”

Dean snorted. “Trust me, that ain’t the half of it.”

“Oh? Any other surprises?” Aaron glanced around, searching for some other marking, maybe to keep leprechauns from stealing his socks.

“Nope, just stab wounds and claw marks.” He made it sound so routine, like something everyone should have. Then he wavered. “Well, I used to have something else – a handprint on this shoulder.” Dean placed his hand over where the mark had been.

The other man frowned curiously, tracing his fingers over the unblemished spot of skin. “Weird. But not anymore? What was it?”

Something unreadable entered Dean’s expression, fond but sad. “It was from an angel, left it when he pulled me out of hell. Literally.” Aaron’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “It went away when he healed me a little later.” And he almost sounded disappointed about that.

“Angels…hell…seriously, do you guys do anything normal?” He smirked, hoping to draw Dean out of his reverie with some light humor.

Dean caught on, grabbed Aaron’s butt and pressed their hips together. “Depends,” he said. “Does this count as normal?”

They kissed again, and Aaron conceded, “We’ll give it half a point. Not because I’m a guy. Because I have a golem and that’s pretty fucking weird.” Dean laughed. “My bedroom’s down the hall,” he offered. “The couch is comfy enough, but the lube is in my nightstand.”

“Well, it’s a tough decision, but…”

* * *

 

He’d never topped before, but before they could even get to that conversation, Aaron had his mouth on Dean’s cock and two slicked fingers up his own ass. While he moaned and squirmed on his fingers, their eyes met and the room suddenly seemed about ten degrees warmer.

“Fuck…fuck, dude, slow down if you don’t want this to be over before it starts,” Dean panted. Looking far too pleased with himself, Aaron pulled back with a wet noise, a string of saliva running between the head of Dean’s cock and his swollen lips.

“Lie down,” he ordered. His voice was scratchy from the blow job, but low, commanding. Dean had acquiesced before he even realized what he was doing. Aaron climbed on top of him like a hawk about to snatch up a mouse. He leaned down and caught Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean whimpered.

Grinning, Aaron looked down at him and pressed a hand to the center of Dean’s chest. Dean could have thrown him at any time, could have him unconscious before the other even knew what hit him, but he still got a thrill from the weight on him, the strength behind the push. “You like that, Dean?” he rasped. “You like me pushing you around?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Moving farther up Dean’s torso until his dick brushed against Dean’s chin, Aaron petted the side of Dean’s face. Then his hand fisted in the short hair at the crown of the hunter’s head and he snapped, “Open your mouth.”

Considering how badly his last and only blow job had gone, Dean might have been nervous but for the nature of the request. It wasn’t ‘suck it’ or ‘blow me.’ It was simple. He opened his mouth, keeping his teeth back. When Aaron’s cock slid between his lips, it felt only natural to let them grip around the crown, to push his tongue to the head, toying with the slit.

Aaron groaned. “Fuck, you look so good like that, sucking my cock. You love it, don’t you, Dean? You fucking love my cock.”

Where this aggressive, cocky side of the overwhelmed Jewish underachiever came from, Dean had no idea. He simply murmured his agreement around the hot flesh in his mouth and started sucking. There wasn’t much finesse, didn’t need to be. Aaron slowly rocked his cock into his mouth, going farther in with each shallow thrust. When he hit the back of his throat, eliciting a cough, Aaron rubbed his thumb just under Dean’s jawline, murmured, “Easy. Just swallow around it. Breathe through your nose.”

Taking the directions dutifully, Dean figured things out much faster than he had the first time around. He only choked a few more times before he got the timing right, swallowing as the head of Aaron’s dick threatened his gag reflex.

Once they’d worked into a nice rhythm, a hand grabbed Dean’s own and guided it back toward Aaron’s already-slick hole. “Stretch me out,” Aaron murmured. Dean didn’t need to be told twice, slipping one and then two fingers into that tight, clenching muscle. “Yeah, just like that, Dean. Shit, you’d do anything I told you to right now, wouldn’t you?”

Dean wanted to protest or glare or something, but then Aaron made this soft mewling noise that went straight to his dick and he decided that, yeah, the guy was probably right. Aaron rocked like, fucking Dean’s mouth and fucking back onto his fingers for a minute or so before he slid back, panting, and reached for his nightstand. “Condom,” he explained needlessly.

He kissed Dean while he rolled it on, then sat up and lowered himself onto that cock so fast Dean knew it had to have hurt a little. The fit was so tight, it was almost painful. Dean heard a growl rip from his own throat. Aaron sat there for a moment, adjusting and breathing shallowly.

“You okay, dude?” Dean asked.

The only response he got at first was a slow roll of hips, and then Aaron lifted himself and dropped back down with a breathless gasp. “God yes.”

“Golem wouldn’t like you saying the name in vain,” Dean reminded him with a smirk.

Aaron leaned forward and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Wouldn’t like me riding some dude’s cock either, now would he?” Dean moaned helplessly. One of his hands fisted in the pillowcase to the side of Dean’s head as he started a brutal pace, bouncing furiously in his lap.

Dean didn’t know how much longer he could last. He reached forward and grasped Aaron’s cock, jacking him in time with his bouncing. A stream of swears emitted from someone’s mouth – maybe both of them, but it was hard to be sure. Pretty soon, Aaron’s voice took on a new pitch and he came over Dean’s hand with a shout.

Rolling them over, Dean pinned Aaron to the mattress and pounded into him until he, too, spilled over the edge.

 

* * *

 

“So, was it as good as you remember?” Aaron was lying on the bed, nothing but a thin sheet covering him.

“Better,” Dean assured him as he pulled his shirt back on. Neither expected him to stay.

“Good. Then don’t be a stranger, you know, if you’re in the area again. I know you’re all Mr. Nomad, but…the offer’s there.”

Dean smirked at him. “Yeah, thanks.”

Aaron was right - his life was bizarre. But as he drove back to Kansas, Dean had to think that, yeah, sex like that was probably worth the trouble.


	2. In which Sam is a total nerd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron visits the bunker.

Dean was fast becoming as attached to the bunker as he was to the Impala – well, that was an exaggeration, but still. He liked the place. He had his own room, his own bathroom, a kitchen where he could cook real goddamn food. Evil creatures of the night aside, this was pretty much the life. Sam had become obsessed with reading and annotating and organizing every book in the place. Dean has a sneaking suspicion that he was going to start sleeping on top of the bookshelves like a cat or a gargoyle and hiss if anyone came to close to his _precioussssss_ … books.

Good thing Dean had close to zero interest in them.

He hadn’t heard from Aaron since the night they hooked up, had been too preoccupied, and he figured Aaron had, too. So, about a month later, he was surprised to hear the man’s voice when he answered a phone call.

“Hey, Dean, you got a minute?”

Dean glanced across the library to where Sam was picking through banshee lore on the shelves. “Uh, yeah. Hang on.” He took the phone up to his room and closed the door. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Well, shot in the dark here, but…are you in Kansas, by any chance? I’m in Topeka on a business trip, and I remember you said you guys were based there…”

A grin split Dean’s face.

And, as luck would have it, they were between jobs, waiting on Kevin to either figure out the next trial or go cross-eyed trying. Now, the only trouble would be getting around Sam. Luckily, Dean knew his brother pretty darn well.

After they were done on the phone, he emerged from his bedroom, phone in hand. “Hey, Sammy!” he called across the bunker. “That was Garth. Said he needed some research help.”

It was like he’d told Sam he was going to be a Jedi. Dweeb.

“Yeah, uh, said something about trolls outside Denver. He was hoping you could dig up some info.” As far as Dean knew, there hadn’t been a troll sighting in the US…ever. Good luck with that one, Sammy.

As expected, Sam started darting around the shelves, searching voraciously for any sign of troll lore. The looking should keep him busy for a good hour, until Aaron could get there. By that point, Dean was hoping his brother would have holed himself up in the office he’d set up for himself at the back of the bunker. After that, all he had to worry about was getting his pants off without tripping.

* * *

 

It seemed neither of them had gotten any in the past month, because both of them were frantic and incapable of keeping their hands to themselves. Safely hidden away in Dean’s bedroom – _Dean’s bedroom_ , Dean had a bedroom – they wasted no time in attacking each other’s mouths.

“I like,” Aaron panted against his mouth, “your place.”

Dean grinned and pulled his shirt off over his head. “Thanks, it’s the lair of an extinct secret society.”

With a laugh, Aaron gave him a shove toward the bed, and Dean toppled onto the covers. “You are so fucking weird,” he insisted before quickly stripping out of his clothes. He grabbed the bottoms of Dean’s pants and tugged them off roughly.

Grabbing the other man’s hand, Dean tugged Aaron on top of him. “Fuck me,” he growled.

Aaron leaned in and nipped at his earlobe. “Until you can’t see straight,” he agreed. He sat back and hauled the other man’s hips up, resting the crooks of Dean’s knees on his shoulders. His tongue painted a long, twisting stripe down the underside of Dean’s dick with the slightest hint of teeth threatening.

Dean let out this completely broken groan. “Hang on,” he mumbled, hands scrambling toward his nightstand and the stereo remote on top of it. He jabbed the play button, and the sweet sound of Kansas “Nobody’s Home” filled the room. Damn, he had good taste in music, Dean thought to himself.

A positively wicked look on his face, Aaron worked his way down Dean’s shaft to lap at his balls, sucking and nipping like they were his last meal. Or so it seemed until he moved lower and moaned as he pressed his tongue against Dean’s hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean gasped. His hands gripped into the sheets frantically. “So fucking good, Aaron.”

Alternating between teasing licks to the outer rim and jabbing the point of his tongue just barely into him, Aaron had him nearly soaked with saliva before he even touched Dean with his finger. And then he wasted no time slipping it in.

Since they had hooked up the first time, Dean had caught himself indulging in this while he masturbated more and more, fantasizing about how it would feel to have Aaron’s fat cock inside him. He may or may not have stretched himself out a bit before Aaron got there.

A second finger slid in beside the first, and he felt a puff of air against his hole when Aaron chuckled. “Couldn’t wait for me, Dean?” he teased.

Dean blushed, but forced himself to stay stoic. “Didn’t want to waste time before getting that cock in me,” he explained.

“Lube?”

Digging under his pillow, Dean produced a well-used tube and a condom. He hissed as Aaron pulled his fingers out, trying to ignore that empty feeling and instead watch the concentration on the other man’s face while he rolled the condom on and slicked himself over with lube.

It was a little painful, but in a wonderful way. Aaron slid almost all the way in right away. He pulled Dean’s legs over his shoulders again and started a steady, rough pace, changing angles each time until he saw Dean’s back arch, and he gasped out frantically. “There! There, fucking there!”

Pretty soon, Aaron had him keening at every movement, each thrust bumping into that oversensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”

But it seemed Aaron was having none of that. He sat back on his calves, hauling Dean up with him so he sat straddling his lap. He attacked Dean’s mouth briefly, then worked his way down his jaw and neck, sucking little marks there. They rocked together, panting and groaning, and it was so fucking perfect, except…

Except perhaps Dean had underestimated the knowledge of the Men of Letters.

He heard Sam’s voice outside, but had no time to react.

“Dean, quit jacking off, I found -!” The bedroom door burst open. His brother stood in the doorway, like he’d forgotten how to close his eyes. Or move. Or breathe.

Staring at his brother over Aaron’s suddenly still shoulder, Dean swallowed heavily. “Uh. Sammy.”

The door slammed closed.

* * *

 

A pair of jeans hastily pulled on, Dean followed his brother down the stairs to the library. “Look, Sam, just hang on a second!”

“What the fuck, Dean!” his brother snapped without looking at him. He was back at his stack of books on the center table, shifting them around to look busy. “Aaron? What the hell is he even doing here? And why the hell are you _having sex with him_? Why am I finding out like this?”

Dean pushed a hand through his mussed hair. “I didn’t tell you ‘cause…well, ‘cause it’s none of your damn business who I fuck, Sam!”

His brother finally looked at him. “It is when you’re bringing them back here!”

“Well then, because I knew you’d flip out! Jesus!”

Sam gave him a top-tier bitch face. “Just explain yourself before I start force-feeding you holy water.”

With a sigh, Dean dropped into a chair at the table and scratched at his bare chest. “It’s no big deal. We had a thing back when we were working the Nazi case. He was in Kansas, so he stopped by.”

Brow creasing in thought, Sam sat down across from him. “Since when do you have sex with guys?”

“Do we really need to have this talk, Sammy?” Dean whined.

“Yes. Now talk.”

“I dunno, I always liked dudes, alright? It’s not something I do a lot, but this isn’t the first time. Is that what you want to hear?”

Sam’s expression melted into this aggravating mix of sympathy and hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I wouldn’t have cared, right?”

Dean picked at a hangnail intently. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

“I’m serious, Dean! Just look at me, would you? Why keep it a secret?”

Rolling his eyes, he snapped, “Fuck if I know. Maybe out of habit. Like fuck if I was gonna let Dad find out when he was around.”

“You really think he would mind that much?”

Dean leaned forward, hands on the table, suddenly aggressive. “That I was a fucking pansy? Yeah, I think he would have minded, Sammy. Now stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to hug me. It’s freaking me out.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, Dean.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the table, and then glanced up at his brother. “So…wait, were you bottoming?”

Dean shoved away from the table and walked straight back toward his room. “Nope! That is where this conversation ends! Also, I made up all that shit about the trolls. You can go back to banshees now.”

* * *

 

Aaron was dressed and tying his shoes when Dean got back to the room. He glanced up at the hunter. “I’m guessing this is my cue to leave.”

“Sorry about that, man,” Dean sighed. “Family, right? But, yeah, it’d probably be uncomfortable for all involved if you hung around.”

“I get that.” He gave Dean a wry smile. “I’ll let you know if I’m in town again, alright? And if you’re ever up in New York…”

“I’ll give you a call,” Dean agreed, smirking and tucking his hands into his pockets. He watched as Aaron pulled his briefcase over his shoulder and they stood face to face for a long moment. “See you around, man,” Dean said.

Aaron leaned forward and kissed him. “See you, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated!


	3. In which Cas shows up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shows up bloodied and not healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a plot. It was an accident.

The next few weeks passed in a haze of blood and sweat and dusty books. A young witch in Dallas had turned her entire high school into her dogged, obedient lackeys, so loyal they started killing each other to eliminate competition for her attention. By the time they got there, she was already desperately trying to reverse the spell to no avail. Her name was Kimberly.

“Please,” she had told them, sobbing at a trigger-happy Dean’s gunpoint. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried to fix it, but it won’t work! Please don’t kill me! No one was supposed to get hurt!”

Sam had coaxed his brother into lowering the weapon, hissing in his ear, “She’s just a kid, Dean!”

Dean holstered his weapon and muttered, “Freakin’ hate witches.”

The silver lining to that whole disaster was that, while Dean was busy keeping the drooling masses away from sharp objects, Sam had been too busy to bother him with talk about the “Aaron Incident.” Well, for the most part, anyway.

On one occasion, when they were turning in for the night at the Sleepy Star Motel, his brother tried to seem casual as he asked, “So, uh, heard from Aaron lately?”

Dean turned a hard look on him, snapped, “No.” It wasn’t clear if he was answering the question or arguing the very conversation.

“Uh-huh. So…you guys aren’t…”

“No.” That response was very clearly an end to this line of questioning.

* * *

 

On their way back, Sam started in on it again. “So, you and Aaron really aren’t…I don’t know, a thing?”

Dean had managed to catch a few Z’s earlier in the drive and was then leaned against the passenger side door. “God, no, Sammy. Jesus, would you leave it? Aaron and I aren’t anything. We had sex one and a half times—and, by the way, I fully blame you and your inability to _knock_ for the missing half.”

Sam snorted. “Right. It has nothing to do with you refusing to be honest with me.”

“Really? We’re doing this again? Sam, when have you ever been interested in who I screw?”

“Since I found out my brother’s been a closet bisexual for my whole life.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean grimaced and griped, “You make it sound all weird and official and shit. It’s just sex, alright? Plain and simple, like it should be.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Sam drumming his fingers on the steering wheel before his boundless nosiness was unleashed once more. “So what about Cas?” he blurted.

Dean sat up a bit, looking startled by the question. “What _about_ Cas?”

“Well, I mean, you guys are obviously really close, and he’s always had this sort of obsession with you…considering this whole thing, I have to ask. Were you guys ever…?”

“No!” Dean looked more than rankled. He glared out the window. “Cas and I are just…well, me and Cas. Alright? That’s it. We’re friends.” He huffed and glanced skyward. He’d been praying to Cas for weeks with no response. “Or we _would_ be if he would freaking _talk_ to me!” he shouted suddenly. “Instead of jerking off God-knows-where, leaving us to think he’s dead!” He gave up all pretense of directing this toward Sam. “Come on, dude! You don’t call, you don’t write, you could-”

“Dean.”

The car swerved to the side of the road, screeching to a stop on the shoulder before the two of them jerked around in their seats to see the battered angel in the back seat.

Cas looked horrible. His face was pale and drawn, blood on his lips and soaking through his shirt and pants in several places. Even more startling was the mass of fallen, bloodied black feathers that now covered the back seat, the wings they came from still invisible.

Dean snapped out of it first. “Christ, Cas, what the hell happened?”

The angel’s voice was heavy, his words effortful. “I…don’t know…woke up…remember…but then there…there were…” He started to slump sideways in his seat, mumbling one last word before falling unconscious: “…llamas.”

“Shit.” Dean got out of the car and moved into the back seat, not sure what to deal with first. There was blood everywhere. He grabbed Cas by the shoulder, shook him lightly, patted the fleshy part of his cheek with his palm. “Cas, come on, man. Get with it. Just hang in a few seconds, alright?”

Cas managed to stir slightly.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Dean demanded.

Cas shook his head. “Don’t…remember…”

Sam finally spoke up from the front seat. “Is it your grace? Is your grace fading?” he asked.

“No…it’s here…” he murmured faintly. “The weapon…must be…” A long breath rushed from his mouth, followed by a harsh, bloody cough. He blacked out again.

“How far to the bunker?” Dean asked, eyes never leaving the angel’s face.

“Thirty minutes, if we’re lucky.”

“Well, get lucky. We can’t bring him to a motel looking like this.”

And something about Cas’s state or the desperation in Dean’s voice must have gotten through pretty clearly because Mr. ‘Going above the speed limit only attracts attention’ managed to get them there in twenty-five.

* * *

 

They got him inside with no more than a few feeble attempts at walking on the angel’s part. In one of the empty bedrooms on the first floor, Sam had the foresight to set a few towels across the bare mattress before he helped liberate Cas of his trench coat and set him across the bed.

“Shit, he’s bleeding everywhere,” Dean mumbled, pulling up the bottom of the bloodied dress shirt to evaluate a gaping wound just above Cas’s left hip bone. He glanced up at his brother with that too-often-seen look that said, ‘If this goes wrong, it might be the one that breaks me.’

Sam left and returned with a warm bucket of water and a few washcloths, then left again for their first aid kit, including whiskey, scissors, and a needle and thread. Dean immediately got to work cutting the fabric away from the wound. “I’m gonna need you to get at those books, Sammy,” he said, voice thick and eyes refusing to leave the gory sight in front of them. “You find out what could do this to him, something that angel mojo can’t heal.”

“You know it’s a million to one that I find anything, Dean,” Sam told him, voice gentle, “but I’ll start looking, and I’ll ask around. Let me know if you need help.” But he knew Dean could handle this part of it on his own. His older brother had been sewing up belly wounds since before Sam could remember. So he went out to the books and started hunting for information that surely wouldn’t be there.

Dean made quick work of cutting away the angel’s shirt, pulling the tie free and leaving it a crimson mess on the carpet. The belly wound was the worst by far, and would probably have killed a human. There were stigmata through the center of either palm, as if someone had pinned him down with skewers. His right pectoral had been skinned from collarbone to just above the nipple. He tipped Castiel to the side just slightly to check his back, and found two slim streams of blood running down his back from an unseen wound. Feathers continued to appear every time Cas shifted.

“What the hell did they do to you, man?” he murmured. Was he punished for killing Samandriel? Did it have to do with Cas’s bizarre behavior since purgatory? These questions were easier to deal with than the one hanging like irons over his mind: _Could this kill him?_

With quiet efficiency, he cleaned out and sewed up the belly wound as best he could. He would want to wash everything again before he applied bandages. The skinning wound came next, cleaned but unable to be stitched for lack of skin. After this, he did the hands, stitched on either side. He couldn’t do anything for his wings. Dean was irritated to find himself thinking about Sam’s stupid questions as he cut through his friend’s trouser legs. Yes, because this was the time to think about things like that. When Cas was fucking _dying_.

His legs held several more stab wounds, the most obvious through the top of his right thigh. The worst, though, was a simple, thin slice to the back of his left calf. His Achilles tendon. If this couldn’t be healed with angel mojo, Cas might just be a wheelchair warrior from then on, like Bobby had been – stuck behind the scenes while everyone else did the fighting.

Once Dean had sewn and cleaned everything and had begun the painstaking task of bandaging it all, something rather strange occurred to him.

“Sammy, get up here!”

Sam came in to see Dean staring at the wound on Cas’s thigh, a bandage in hand.

“The cut didn’t go through his pants.”

“What?”

Dean looked up at him, jaw set and eyes narrowed. “This stab wound—there wasn’t a hole in his pants.”

Sam frowned and straightened up in alarm. “What, you think they stripped him or something?”

“And then dressed him back up without smearing blood over everything? The blood stains are only where the wounds are, but there aren’t any rips in the clothes. Only one good explanation for that.”

They stared at one another for a long moment before the idea clicked in Sam’s head. “It happened on another plane. That would explain why his wings are hurt, too.”

“Bingo. And you and I both know this isn’t how demons torture. This is angel stuff right here.” Dean started wrapping Castiel’s leg again, forcing himself to breathe evenly so he wouldn’t get rough in his anger. “Son of a bitch, I knew he shouldn’t have gone back to Heaven. I fucking knew it.”

Sam sat lightly on the edge of the bed to examine the belly wound Dean hadn’t wrapped yet. “It couldn’t have been an angel blade, either. This one would have killed him. He’d be leaking grace.”

Dean was grumbling angrily, stopping his bandaging every few seconds to calm himself down. “I’m gonna find the bastard that did this, and I’m having angel wing soup for dinner,” he snapped.

Silently, Sam started wrapping Cas’s hands.

* * *

 

Castiel came to the next day. Sam was seated at the desk by the angel’s bed, going through angel lore while Dean was out getting food and more bandages.

“This place,” he murmured. Sam jerked in his chair and turned around.

“Cas.” He stood and pulled his chair next to the bed. “How do you feel?”

The angel squinted in thought and concluded, “Terrible.”

“That sounds about right. You’re pretty torn up. Do you remember anything now?”

“Dean was angry with me. I heard him shouting and followed the sound. Where are we, Sam?” It was strange seeing Castiel so pale and motionless. Even his sharp, heavy voice had taken on a weaker tone.

“That’s a long story. I'll explain later. We’re safe, though. I meant before that, before you found us,” Sam urged.

Castiel shook his head and grimaced at the movement. “No. I woke in the Andes like this. There were llamas and I couldn’t move. Rather foul-smelling creatures, llamas. I lost consciousness until I heard Dean shouting at me. Is he still upset with me?”

Sam sighed. “No. He was just worried about you. _We_ were worried about you. Do you know how long it’s been since we went after Samandriel?”

The name struck a chord with the angel, and his eyes went wide. “I killed him.” He panted, panicked.

“Hey, calm down, Cas.” Sam placed a hand on his unmarred shoulder to keep him from rising. “We’ll deal with that later, okay? First we need to figure out what’s happening here. Do you have any idea what sort of weapon could keep you from healing?”

The angel shook his head and grimaced again. “An angel blade would have killed me. A weapon like this should not exist.” His brow furrowed. “This makes no sense.”

“We think you were injured in heaven, on another plane. Your wings are hurt,” Sam explained.

His brow furrowed further. “You were able to perceive my wings?”

Sam shook his head. “No, but there were feathers everywhere.”

At that point, Castiel closed his eyes. “Yes. They’re still bleeding.”

The bunker door opened and closed outside. “Sam! Your turn to cook, dude!” Dean came to the door, and his eyes brightened.

* * *

 

Sam had retreated to his office to dig through books for the night, leaving Dean to clean Cas’s wounds again. While Dean was focused on peeling the gauze away from Cas’s chest, the angel watched him with uncertain curiosity. Finally, he spoke up.

“I must ask a favor of you. It’s of a rather personal nature.”

Dean glanced up, frowning. “What, do you have to pee or something?”

“Angels do not need to urinate,” Castiel assured him.

“Well then, what is it?” His mind jumped back to Sam’s stupid-ass questions. _Were you two ever…?_ Stupid Sam.

Castiel swallowed nervously. “My wings are injured. I cannot tend to them myself in this condition.”

Frowning, Dean glanced toward Cas’s back. “I mean, I’m fine helping you out, man, but I can’t even see them, let alone patch them up.”

“I would have to manifest them to you. It’s unusual for an angel to expose its wings to a human. It’s considered quite…delicate. Intimate. I trust you, though.”

Dean nodded, having pulled the chest bandage off. “Alright. Yeah, no problem.”

With that, Castiel carefully scooted forward to give himself room. The air around him seemed to waver for a moment and then rushed away from him as the wings displaced it. They were massive, perhaps ten feet across fully stretched, though he had them slightly bent. Long, inky blank feathers filled them out so they were perhaps four inches thick at the top. In the light, undercurrents of deep blues and violets shone through.

But as beautiful as they were, they were in poor shape. Several parts were bald of feathers, deep gashes running along the skin instead. They were bent at different angles, and the reason soon became clear as Castiel tried to move them and a bit of bloodied bone stuck out at the joint. The angel cried out and gripped at the towel beneath him. “It’s broken,” he murmured in disbelief.

Dean had closed neither his mouth nor his eyes since they had appeared, giving him the look of someone who has suffered some sort of brain damage. After a moment, he murmured a soft, “Shit, Cas.”

The angel blushed despite his pain. “I told you, it’s…”

“Delicate,” Dean agreed. He swallowed heavily and nodded. Even battered and broken, they were a stunningly beautiful and, in a strange sort of way, a bit erotic. Cautiously, he reached a hand forward. “Can I- I mean, I just want to see how bad…”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

They were soft. He let just his fingertips brush over the feathers, testing the waters. Castiel’s eyes were fixed on Dean’s face, calculating his every expression. Once Dean got over the chest-tightening magnificence of it all, he managed to get his head together and start examining the cuts, which were mostly superficial, and the break.

“I have to set it, Cas,” Dean told him. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but it’s gotta happen.”

The angel nodded, squeezed his eyes shut.

With a strong grip on either side of the break, Dean pulled and forced them into place. Castiel roared in pain, jerking forward so hard that the stitches in his stomach pulled, forcing another shout of pain from his throat.

One hand holding the break, Dean wrapped the other around Cas’s middle and pressed their temples together. “Shh, shh,” he murmured. “It’s over. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering and clutching at Dean’s shoulders with his damaged hands, Cas panted his way through the pain. A sound came from outside.

“Dean! Cas? What’s going on?”

“ _Stay out, Sam!_ ” Dean was surprised at the forcefulness in his tone. Though he had no idea why, he had a very clear concept of how private these wings were, how much he didn’t want someone else to see them. “We’re fine. Just…don’t come in right now.”

There was a long pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna stitch this up and splint it, but the worst of the pain should be over.”

* * *

 

Once the break was splinted and the cuts stitched and patched, the wings disappeared again.

“I still smell like llama,” Castiel commented.

Dean laughed. “What, you want me to give you a sponge bath? I don’t think I have my sexy nurse outfit on me right now, Cas.”

“Would the one that isn’t sexy not be sufficient? Why aren’t you able to bathe me without an outfit?”

Shaking his head, Dean stood up. “Nevermind. Do you think you could make it to the bathroom if I helped you along? It’s just across the hall.”

“I can teleport myself there. I only need help with the actual washing.”

Dean glanced toward the door. Sam was going to give him shit about this, he knew it. He sighed. “Yeah, alright. Just let me get over there first.”

* * *

 

“Alright, just lean forward. I’m going to wash your back.” Dean kept a hand at Castiel’s back so he wouldn’t rip any more stitches. Surprisingly, the whole bathing thing ended up being less awkward than Cas’s choice in conversation.

“You and Sam, you’ve been arguing. I can always tell if you two have been arguing,” he noted mildly while Dean scrubbed the grime from his back.

“It’s nothing big. Personal stuff he’s being a big sissy about.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder at Dean. “You won’t tell me?”

Dean stared at those totally unfair puppy eyes and relented a little. “I brought someone back here without telling him, and he wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Did you bring them for a good reason?” Castiel asked.

After a moment’s resistance, Dean gave in to a snort of laughter. “Uh, no, I guess not. It was for sex.”

Castiel nodded. “Well, then, I suppose his anger was somewhat justified.”

“Also he was mad ‘cause it, uh, was a dude, so…” Dean stared resolutely at the wall.

Frowning, the angel cocked his head to the side. “Sam has never given any indication that he is uncomfortable with same-sex relationships.”

Dean gave him a sharp look. “It’s not a relationship.” He sagged and helped Castiel lean back as he started on his chest and arms. “And he was mostly mad about me not telling him I liked guys.”

“Ah, well that seems more understandable,” Cas greed. “You two have always had issues with trust.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean sighed and looked down at his hands as he wiped the grime from biceps and forearms. “So you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“I already knew.”

His gaze snapped up to Castiel’s face in shock. “You what?”

Castiel smiled at him in mild confusion. “There is little about you I don’t know, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean shifted uncomfortably and shifted down to scrub Cas’s legs. He passed him the washcloth. “You can wash your own junk, dude. You’re not paying me well enough for a happy ending.”

“I’m not paying you at all.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna wash your hair. You take care of business down there.” He took the water cup from beside the sink and used it to pour water over Cas’s head, careful not to pour it in his eyes. “Shit, dude, how’d you manage to get blood in your hair?”

Indeed, a bit of the water that ran down the angel’s shoulders was tinged pink. Perhaps there had been something he missed. Dean started pushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair slowly, feeling his scalp for cuts.

Cas let out a strange sigh. “That feels…very pleasant, Dean.”

Dean looked down, possibly on accident, and was mildly mortified to see that Cas was holding his cock in hand. His fingers tightened around it while Dean rubbed at his scalp, and it began to harden a bit.

A rather pathetic noise came from Dean’s throat. “Cas,” he said hoarsely. “What’re you doing there, buddy? That’s, um…”

Castiel looked down at his penis curiously. “Oh. I apologize. It seems my vessel’s sensory system confused the pleasant sensations of having my head massaged with sexual gratification." He let go of himself.

What did one say to something like that? Dean was saved from finding out when his fingers struck something hard with a sharp edge. His attention turned fully to the mystery spot, and he pushed the hair around it out of the way.

It was small in diameter, about the same as the stem of an apple. It was smooth, metallic, and protruding from Castiel’s head. “Holy shit, dude. Stay right here.”

Dean returned a moment later with a pair of needle-nosed pliers in hand. Castiel was also feeling the object with curiosity. “Something is lodged in my skull,” he said, a bit needlessly.

“Hold still,” Dean instructed. He pinched the tiny bit protruding with the edge of the pliers and placed his other hand flat on Cas’s head to hold him steady. With just a few tugs, a long, thin metal stick slid free from the angel’s head. It was about five inches in length.

They both stared at it. “This is what they were doing to Samandriel,” Castiel murmured.

Dean’s gaze tore from the object only to fixate on the angel’s chest. Skin was growing back over the exposed area rapidly. His stomach wound, too, and all the others started stitching themselves together. “What in the hell did they do to you, Cas?” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there will be pornage in the next one! Reviews are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews and such are welcomed with rabid enthusiasm. I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are my own, so please point them out!


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